


The Diary Of Regulus Black

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: The Diary Of Regulus Black [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Diary of Regulus Black, F/M, Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts, House of Black, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing series of entries in the not so private diary of Regulus Black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diary Of Regulus Black

**Author's Note:**

> ~First entry~

The life of a pureblood, where do I begin? 

I suppose the beginning is always a fine place to start.

 

My name is Regulus Black, and this is my diary.  Ask you may, how it comes to be that someone as insignificant as me, long since gone from this realm, is keeping a diary, and to you I say this:

 

It is what it is.

When I was a boy of four, perhaps five, my mother would kneel down before me to straighten my robes or smooth my hair. She would look at me with her piercing black eyes, harsh features drawn in sharp and unforgiving angles, her black hair pulled so tight at her nape that her eyes appeared somewhat permanently squinted.  My mother was many things; particular about appearances was one of them.  The house of Black has always been blessed with remarkable features and striking beauty, it is one of our finer attributes; my father could trace our lineage back to the days of old and swear that we were all a fine looking brood.  Life at Grimmauld Place was not as you might think. There were certainly rules to be obeyed, but there was also love; however obscure its form was.   Me and my brother Sirius, ah yes, you know his name well I imagine.  We…were happy.

When I was seven I was at the age where testing my parent’s authority was something that should be done.  I learned very quickly that you do not get on the wrong side of my mother.  Our house elf Kreacher watched over me as I lie unconscious on the living room carpet.  My mother was a perfectionist with her wand too; her stunning spell packed a punch that I would not soon be forgetting.  I imagine she would have used the unforgivable _crucio_ if I had been a tad older. No matter, I would have my fair share of that spell before my time was up...

When I was 11 I began my time at Hogwarts, Slytherin of course. My brother was there too, but by this time he was the blood-traitor Gryffindor. I was forbid to speak with my brother, but that didn’t stop us from meeting away from prying eyes at least once a week. He would beg me to think for myself, to try and see things ‘his way.’ I would always dismiss his pleadings, without fail, and then we would sometimes sit in silence.   I never told my parents of our meetings, although I suspected my mother didn’t quite believe me when I lied to her face.

When I was sixteen my father told me it was time to become a man. I didn’t quite understand what he meant at the time, but it wasn’t long.  The muggle didn’t even see us appear, didn’t even jump as my father forced his way into her cottage.  It was here, in the very place that my parents detested that I made the first in a long line of very bad decisions. Pleasing my father was the most important thing in my world, next to gaining my mother’s approval.  When he told me to strip the muggle of her clothing, I did; and when he instructed me to violate her, I did that too.  I will never forget the way her eyes squeezed out tears as I forced her down on the bed, the quiet whimpers that she tried so desperately to hold in.  I was confused and disgusted, but we weren’t done yet.  

_“Do it, Regulus. Do it now!”_

His voice was thick in my ear as he stood behind me, commanding me to kill the muggle girl. His words invaded my head and consumed my thoughts.

_Muggles are filth._

_Muggles are useless._

_Kill her she means nothing._

Sixteen year old children are not meant to be murderers; it’s simply not a normal thing.  When my father grew impatient he waved his own wand, snuffing out her life like a tiny flame.

I will never forget her face.

I will never be the same.

R.A.B.

 


End file.
